


bloom

by honestground



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Multi, Polyamory, either way Paya's gonna get Character Developed so hard, or is it character development disguised as porn?, porn disguised as character development
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2019-10-28 04:50:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17780882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honestground/pseuds/honestground
Summary: It is said that Princess Zelda’s smile carries a warmth and brightness comparable to the sun. It should not come as such a surprise that it’s similarly painful to look at for too long.





	1. soap

They arrive at Kakariko on the coattails of winter, just as the plum blossoms have started to bloom. 

Paya has spent the last two days cleaning the house in a panic. Dusted the rafters, washed the floors and polished the balustrades, scrubbed down the wooden decking and stairs until her fingers began to prune. Her robes are freshly pressed, hair combed and neatly styled, perfume daubed on her wrists and neck and just behind her ears. Impa arches an eyebrow when Paya kneels at her feet, requesting that her face be painted. 

“You normally do this yourself,” she says, even as she obligingly dips her fingers in the small wooden bowl Paya presented her. “Are our visitors really worth the extra fuss?” 

Paya flushes almost as red as the paint, but resolutely keeps her chin tilted to receive her grandmother’s attentions. “I want it perfect,” she murmurs, her eyes slipping closed as the tip of one digit glides expertly across her forehead; despite her age, Grandmother’s hands have never lost their steadiness. “It’s been nearly a year.” 

“I hope you’re not expecting any marked change. Link won’t have grown an inch, I expect—except perhaps around the middle.” Impa sniffs as she paints a line down the bridge of Paya’s nose. “The princess too, if the letters from my sister are to be believed.”

Paya’s eyes snap open. “ _Grandmother_.” 

Impa’s mouth twitches, but otherwise her expression remains impassive. “Frankly I think you very courageous for giving up your bedroom.”

Paya tries not to frown—it would risk wrinkling the fresh paint—and instead makes her displeasure known in her tone of voice as she takes the bowl from her grandmother’s hands, her face warm. “You mustn’t speak your mind so plainly.”

“Of course I must,” Impa says. “I’m old. It is my right.” 

“It would embarrass them.”

“Nonsense. To feel embarrassment you must first feel shame—of which they have absolutely none.” 

It’s near sunset when Dorian gives word that Master Link and Princess Zelda have been spotted making their journey up the mountain. Paya assists Impa down from her many cushions and out onto the decking, wringing her hands anxiously at the sound of approaching hoofbeats and the shouts of her neighbours calling out words of greeting. The two of them are sharing the saddle as Link brings the horse to a stop at the foot of the staircase—he dismounts first, fluid and graceful, then reaches out with both arms to help Princess Zelda to the ground. 

Seeing her squeeze Link’s hand in thanks rather grips Paya’s heart, but then the princess folds back the hood of her traveling cloak and she simply can’t take her eyes off her face.

The princess has always been beautiful, of course. Paya knew this even before they were acquainted—she had read all manner of accounts and poems that spoke so highly of her beauty, and upon their meeting following the fall of the Calamity, she could easily and readily attest to those claims. But now there is a certain effortlessness to her appearance: a smattering of freckles over her nose and a soft glow to her skin from her travels in sunnier climates, her golden hair no longer pulled back and neatly braided but loose and wild about her face—and _oh_ , what was it that grandmother had said about marked change? But there is such a striking difference to her radiance. 

Princess Zelda appears to take a deep breath, taking in the sight of a second home which she hasn’t seen in nearly a year. Paya wants to shrink back in shyness—ashamed, almost, to be beheld by a creature of such grace—but the princess’s gaze falls immediately to Impa.

“Impa,” she says, and kneels to embrace the Sheikah elder. “It’s been far too long.” 

Impa hugs her back just as fiercely. “Long indeed—I feared you might have aged so much that I would not have known your face.”

The princess smiles, drawing back from the hug to grasp Impa’s gnarled hands. “And yet you haven’t aged a day.”

Impa scoffs. “The next time we meet will be at my funeral, I am sure of it.” 

“Grandmother,” Paya warns, then flushes deeply as the princess turns her eyes to her. She hurriedly dips her head in a bow. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Princess.”

“I take it you remember my granddaughter,” Impa says, “who disdains jokes regarding the fragility of my mortal state.” 

The princess gives a soft laugh as she straightens up. “Of course!” she says, and before Paya can react, she finds herself being embraced as well. The hug itself is so warm and sincere it nearly drives the breath from her lugs, but when she remembers to breathe again, Paya can immediately distinguish a clean, masculine scent; cut grass and clean earth, and the distinct headiness of leather. 

_Master Link_ , she realises dizzily, as the princess pulls away. _This is what Master Link smells like._

“If I may, what scent are you wearing?” the princess asks her curiously, having apparently gone through a similar thought process. “It’s familiar, but I can’t seem to place it.”

“Plum blossoms, Princess,” Paya stammers, quietly glad she has enough wits about her for speech. “From our trees.”

“The entire village will smell like it soon,” Impa interjects. “I hope yourself and Master Link will be gracing us with your presence for that long.” 

“Of course!” the princess says, but she is still looking at Paya. “I deeply regret that I was so preoccupied on my last visit that we were unable to properly get to know one another,” she says, grasping Paya’s hands in both of hers. “I only hope that this time we can grow closer.” 

“Yes, yes, there will be plenty of time for that,” Impa says airily, before Paya can reply. “For now, it is time for supper. Link,” she calls to the blue-clad champion, who is deep in conversation with Dorian, “come up for dinner and give this old woman a hug.” 

Paya holds the door as everyone files inside. Master Link briefly grasps her shoulder in thanks, giving her a smile that brings heat to her cheeks. He is handsome as ever, but true to her grandmother’s chiding, he hasn’t grown much in stature; Princess Zelda still stands nearly two inches taller, even in flat boots. Her belly, too, Paya can’t help but notice, is also decidedly flat. 

Impa, being well aware of Link’s voracious appetite, had commissioned a fair volume of food in a variety of dishes to be prepared for his arrival: a seemingly bottomless tureen of pumpkin stew, plates piled high with fried greens and steamed mushrooms, and the finest gourmet meat served on a bed of rice. The four of them sit on cushions around the low square table to eat, Link seeming more than content to feast in silence while the princess regales Impa and Paya with the details of their travels. 

They had spent much of their winter in the mountains of Hebra, tracking wildlife and studying the bones of a great skeleton, the creature’s magnitude described as so enormous Paya can scarcely begin to imagine it. “It was truly fascinating—I was so reluctant to leave,” she says, “but of course Hebra becomes downright treacherous in the dead of winter, so we had no choice but to return to Hateno.” 

“And how is my dear sister?” Impa asks. “Still terrorizing the children and Symin?” 

“Oh, yes,” the princess laughs. “It’s very amusing. Do you hear from her often?” 

“Often enough.” Impa gives pause to appraise the bottom of her teacup. Then: “We have a bet going.” 

“A bet?” Zelda asks, as Paya shoots her grandmother a warning look that goes entirely ignored. “Whatever for?”  

“For when the two of you will finally submit to be married.” 

Master Link chokes on his food. The princess thumps him on the back and Paya almost upsets the pitcher in her haste to pour him some water. Impa busies herself with the teapot and patiently watches Link gulp down his water before saying, “Well?” 

“Grandmother,” Paya mutters.

“No, Paya, it’s quite all right,” the princess assures her, smiling good-naturedly as she rubs Link’s back. “It will please you, Impa, that we have talked about it, but we will not be _submitting_ for some years yet.” She turns her gaze to Link, who says nothing but gives a firm nod and takes her hand atop the table. Her smile grows a touch warmer. “There’s no hurry. Weddings are such fuss.”

“On the contrary,” Impa says, “there is already so much to organize for the spring festival, officiating a wedding ceremony would not be so cumbersome. There will already be food aplenty.”

The princess bursts into laughter. “And here I was thinking we were merely invited to join in the celebrations! Was your true motive quite so devious?” 

Impa sips her tea. “Yes.”

She laughs again, and even Link lets out a small chuckle, and Paya is grateful to feel the tension lift from the table. She had been prepared to intervene had Grandmother become difficult, but Princess Zelda and Master Link have clearly had practice at diffusing these kinds of conversations—a rather sad thought, Paya realises, at the same moment Zelda’s expression turns melancholy. She looks down at her and Link’s entwined fingers for a moment before speaking. “My time has never been wholly my own until now,” she says. “There is still so much I want to see.”

“I can not condemn you for that,” Impa replies, after a moment’s silence. “Though you must permit me to pester you at least once more during your visit.” 

“Of course,” the princess says, her smile genuine again. “I should expect nothing less.”

“Good.” Impa sets her teacup down. “I think it is time that we all turn in. You have had a long journey, and Paya has kindly offered you her bedroom for the duration of your stay.” 

“Oh, Paya, we couldn’t,” Zelda objects. “We will gladly take a room at the inn.” 

“You will not,” Impa says hotly. “I want the two of you safe under my roof.” 

“I’ll be quite comfortable, Princess,” Paya adds earnestly. “It’s no bother.” 

“I’ll not hear another word of it,” Impa says, cutting off Zelda’s reply. She rises from the table and shuffles over to her cushions in finality. “Begrudge this old woman one favour, for pity’s sake.” 

The princess laughs at that. “Oh, I suppose.” 

“Thank you. Now, off to bed with the both of you—I’d offer you a bedroll for the floor if I believed in the scarcest possibility that your knight might actually use it.” 

 

* * *

 

Later, after the table has been cleared and the house is dark and Grandmother is comfortably snoring on her bed of cushions, Paya gathers her soaps and oils and takes herself down to the bathhouse. 

She bathed only yesterday, with little strenuous activity between then and now, but something about the arrival of their guests has left her aching for steam and solitude. She fills and heats the large wooden tub, adding her own concoction of potions until the water is milky and barely translucent, then strips down and steps into the warmth. 

Paya scrubs the paint off her face until her skin is clean and rosy, then takes down her hair from its elaborate ties so that it may float like liquid silver on the surface of the water. She takes up a washcloth and begins meticulously with her toes, working her way slowly up to her neck and down her arms until all of her is wet and glowing, then sets the cloth aside and sinks deeper into the bath. 

She just sits for a while, reclining against the back of the tub, her knees rising out of the water as she lets the heat lay into her body. Her breasts are exposed to the warm air, and she toys with one mindlessly until the nipple pebbles, enjoying the easy slide of the soap. With her other hand, she lazily trails her fingertips through the damp thatch of hair at the apex of her legs—a slightly darker silver than that of her head—then down and down and down further still until her fingers find a different kind of wetness and her hips roll up with a sigh. 

She knows she won’t be interrupted and so she likes to take her time: teasing a little by scarcely dipping a fingertip into herself, withdrawing, rubbing and repeating until the need for release becomes more urgent. She drapes one leg over the edge of the bathtub, thighs spreading wide as her lower body lifts out of the water, canting and rocking into the pressure of her fingers as her free hand still grasps her breast.

There was a time where she used to feel ashamed about this—sickened, sometimes, by the thoughts that rise unbidden as she succumbs to the pleasure of her own touch. Sometimes she imagines being taken roughly, her hair pulled and breasts bitten as she sobs and begs for more; other times it’s slow and tender, a gradual climb to the heights of ecstasy rather than a frantic rush to the peak, and though her gentle lover never speaks or shows his face she knows without a doubt it is _him_. 

But this time it isn’t just the thought of blue eyes and calloused hands that sends Paya to the brink of climax. It is not simply her imaginings of Master Link’s mouth on her body that brings the bend to her spine. It is not _herself_ she sees in Link’s arms when her toes start to curl, as her head falls back over the edge of the bath and she must cover her mouth to stifle her cries—and then all she sees is long golden hair clinging to the sweat on their skin as she gasps and gasps and gasps.

She’s trembling when she knows herself again, her heartbeat thrumming in every nerve. She draws her legs up to her chest and presses her face to her knees with the shame of it. _Is this what love is?_ she wonders. To touch and be touched in such soft, private places? The very thought of it seems impossible, to show such vulnerability to another person. Surely she will never know such intimacy. Surely only in the privacy of her deepest fantasies will she ever hope to feel it. 

She remains in the bath until the water gets cold, then takes a breath and goes under. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back on my bullshit. big love to Meriandra for the quick beta and letting me constantly cry all over her about these dumb kids. estimated 4-5 chapters but we'll see how it goes.


	2. eggs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /shows up 3 months late with starbucks
> 
> sup

Mornings begin early in Kakariko village. 

Though she has trained to only need a few scant hours of sleep, Paya’s night was particularly unrestful. She rises at daybreak to tidy her hair and paint her face, spends twenty minutes sweeping down the decking and polishing the guardian deities out the front of the house, and by the time she moves back inside to prepare the morning meal, much of the village is awake and bustling. 

Grandmother sleeps longer now, in her old age, though she will never admit it. Paya gently rouses her with a breakfast tray of cut fruit and steamed rice. 

“Managed your own paint today, I see,” Impa says evenly, and Paya blushes furiously and fumbles with the teapot. 

The house is still shining from top to bottom and the spring festival preparations are not quite yet underway, so Paya’s chores for the day are few and far between. Despite Grandmother’s assurances that Master Link and the princess can fend for themselves, she ventures down to Cado’s cucco pen to enquire after some eggs; he agrees upon the condition that she braves the wrath of the birds herself, handing her the basket and sincerely wishing her luck.  

She’s kneeling in the damp grass by the hen house, making no sudden movements and mostly unscathed besides a few disgruntled pecks, when she feels a shadow fall across her back. 

“And here I thought Link was the courageous one,” says a musical voice. “Even he doesn’t dare face the cuccos all on his own.” 

Paya knows to whom the voice belongs, and so she arranges her features accordingly, but looking up to find Princess Zelda in full Sheikah garb rather steals the breath from her lungs. Of course her hair shines gold in the morning sun, her bright eyes a stark contrast against the slight tan of her complexion, but the robe and leggings and split-toe shoes that capture Paya’s attention. For a moment she can only stare dumbly, somehow rendered speechless by the sight of the Princess of Hyrule in the traditional clothing of her people—until she vividly recalls imagining her in far, far less. 

“Princess!” Paya scrambles to her feet and hurriedly dips into a bow to hide her flush. “Good morning!” 

“Good morning indeed!” Zelda says brightly. “We must have missed you—did you get up very early?” 

Paya’s face only gets hotter as she straightens up, reflecting on the cause of her rather sleepless night. “Yes, I—I had some chores to do.” She holds up the basket weakly. “I thought Master Link might enjoy some eggs for breakfast.” 

The princess laughs. “I know Link far too well to even dare say that he hasn’t already eaten, but I’m certain he wouldn’t turn down a second course. You’re too kind, Paya, thank you.”

Paya tries to smile, but it feels more like a wince—something the princess is apparently quick to notice, her own smile slipping from her expression to make way for one of concern. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine!” Paya says, much too quickly, and when the princess looks less convinced and more alarmed, she finds herself scrambling for an explanation. “I’m just—” she gestures helplessly, then decides on a half-truth: “I’m surprised that you’re wearing our robes, that’s all.” 

To Paya’s great dismay, Princess Zelda’s face appears to fall. “Impa suggested I take them while I have my travelling clothes mended.” She can’t seem to meet Paya’s eyes suddenly, self-consciously worrying the tie on the front of the robe. “I’m aware they’re sacred, in a way, and I did think that it might be inappropriate, offensive even—”

“Oh—no!” Paya gasps, stricken. “I’m not offended, Princess, not at all! I’m just surprised at how well you wear it!” 

Zelda looks up at her curiously, and Paya blanches at her choice of words. “Ah! Not that I’m _surprised_ you wear it well, you would look very fine in anything you choose to wear! It’s just—you look—” _Breathtaking._ “Like it was made for you. Nobody would ever question your right to wear it, it suits you so perfectly.”  

It’s a very strange, very stilted declaration, but the princess’s puzzled expression slowly spreads into a smile that heats Paya’s body from the tips of her ears all the way down to her toes. It is said that Princess Zelda’s smile carries a warmth and brightness comparable to the sun. It should not come as such a surprise that it’s similarly painful to look at for too long. 

“That is very kind of you to say, Paya,” the princess says. “Thank you.” 

It takes all of Paya’s self-control not to lower her gaze to the grass. “It isn’t kindness, Princess,” she says, “just honesty.”

“Well, as long as we’re being honest,” Zelda replies, carefully straightening her robe. “I much prefer this to my travelling clothes. They’re rather… conspicuous.” She gives Paya another shy smile. “Sometimes I wish my hair were silver instead of gold. I think I would like to stand out a little less.”

“Oh,” Paya says, feeling suddenly that much warmer. The sincerity of the admission is so disarming that she can’t for the life of her think of anything intelligent to say, and instead mumbles, “But your hair is so lovely.”

The princess laughs, but not unkindly, and Paya blushes deeply again. _Goodness_. “Well, I certainly do try,” she says. “But I must concede that my expertise is limited to braiding—my artistry is nothing compared to your own.”

“I could do it for you,” Paya offers, without thinking. “Your hair, I mean. For the festival, or sooner, if you’d like.”

Zelda’s face lights up. “Would you really? Are you sure you have time?”

“Of course,” Paya says, but suddenly the thought of pulling her fingers through the princess’s hair brings forth a vision of Master Link doing the same—only the context is far less innocent. She tightens her grip on the basket in an attempt to disguise the fact that her hands are trembling. “It’s no trouble.” 

“Well, I must make it up to you somehow,” Zelda says, and ducks her head to peer into the hen house. “Perhaps I can assist you with this?” 

“Oh, perhaps you shouldn’t,” Paya says, hastily stepping between the princess and the hutch opening before she can reach inside. “The cucco don’t take kindly to strangers.” 

Zelda gives a short laugh. “All right. But allow me to keep you company, at least.” 

The princess holds out her hand. Paya doesn’t move for a moment, unsure of what she’s reaching for, but then she realises she’s simply offering to take the basket. “There’s really no need—”

“Nonsense,” Zelda interrupts cheerfully. “I know how much effort it takes to keep Link fed. It’s the very least I could do.” When Paya still hesitates, she smiles kindly and steps forward to pry the handle from her grip. “Really, Paya, please allow me.”

“Well, I—yes, all right.” Her hands now empty, and nothing to keep her from wringing them, Paya quickly sinks to her knees again to reach into the hen house. Her mind grasps around for something to talk about and automatically lands on food. “Was it very difficult—keeping Master Link fed while you were on your travels?”

“On the contrary,” Zelda says, kneeling down beside her on the grass, “he prioritises food above all else when preparing for a trip. If it were a choice between an extra layer of clothing or an extra bag of rice, he would take the rice.” 

Paya smiles at the thought despite her nerves, carefully fishing a fresh egg out from within the hutch. “I suppose that might be rather troublesome when Hebra is your destination?”

The princess laughs, extending her hand for the egg. Paya gratefully places it in her palm. “He repeatedly insisted that winter clothing is secondary provided you have enough to eat, but I had to put my foot down.” She inspects the egg briefly before placing it in the basket. “Does it snow here, up in the mountains? I have never spent a full winter in the village.”

Paya shakes her head. “The climate doesn’t allow for it. We do get hail sometimes, though. Is it similar?”

“Not quite,” the princess says. “On sunny days in Hebra, the ground shines like diamonds. Link had to keep reminding me to cover up so I wouldn’t get sunburned.”

“Sunburn?” Paya says, astonished. “In Hebra?”

“Of course! Sunlight reflecting off the snow can burn you very easily. That’s how I got these.” The princess gestures to her face, at the freckles over her nose. “Purah was livid when she saw them. Apparently the sun damage will age me terribly.” 

“Oh,” Paya says simply. She considers commenting on the freckles, and how fetching she finds them, but thinks better of it. “Do you see her often, my great aunt?”  


“As often as I can. She has such a brilliant mind.” The princess takes the egg that Paya offers her and places it carefully in the basket. After a pause, she continues, “She laments not knowing you better, actually. When did you see her last?” 

“She hasn’t visited since I was very small,” Paya replies. “I believe she hasn’t left Hateno since her… accident.” 

“Can you not go to her?” 

Paya hesitates for a moment as she reaches into the hen house. “The roads haven’t really been safe until recently,” she says carefully. “And Grandmother is getting on in years. I know she jokes about it, but it would be irresponsible of me—”

“Paya,” the princess interrupts gently, “have you never left the village?” 

Suddenly, inexplicably, Paya sees herself at sixteen. Kneeling at her dressing table, the tip of her braid dragging on the dark wooden floor. Belongings strewn about her bedroom and tapestries ripped from the walls. Scrubbing the paint and tears from her face, then taking a knife to her hair—slicing and cutting and hacking away until the floor is littered with silver.

Paya reaches up, fingers crawling up her neck, surreptitiously feeling for her hair. “No,” she says. “My place is here.” 

Princess Zelda seems to sense she has struck a nerve without meaning to. She offers Paya a tight smile. “Of course.” 

There’s something like sadness or pity in her eyes and it rather churns her stomach to look at, so Paya refocuses her attention on her search for another egg. The silence feels a little tense now, so she breaks it by asking, “Did you sleep well last night?”

“Oh, yes, we were very comfortable,” the princess replies, voice light again. “Thank you again for permitting us use of your bedroom.”

Glad to have left the previous topic behind them, Paya allows herself a small smile. “It’s no trouble, Princess.”

“The bedsheets smell like you,” Zelda adds.

_Crack._

A startled cucco lets out a piercing squawk and bursts from the hutch opening in a flurry of feathers. They both shrink back to avoid the beak and talons, Paya’s hand dripping with the egg she had accidentally crushed in her grip. 

“I’m—I’m _so_ sorry!” Paya gushes, once the danger of being pecked or clawed is past them, and hurriedly tries to wipe her her sticky hand on the grass. “For _this_ and—oh, this is so embarrassing, I changed the linens before you arrived, I _swear_ —”

“Paya, please relax,” the princess laughs, drawing a handkerchief from her sleeve, and then, casually as anything, she takes Paya’s wrist and pulls her hand into her lap. “Here, allow me.”

Paya startles at the contact but doesn’t pull away, sitting motionless with bated breath as the princess begins cleaning yolk from between her fingers. There’s an ease about her as she does it, working swiftly but gently with the air of a person tending to a loved one, and Paya is utterly transfixed by it—the soft look on her face, and the strange intimacy in the way she methodically wipes down each digit before moving on to the next.

“You don’t have to apologise, and it wasn’t a criticism,” the princess says, turning Paya’s palm over to inspect her work. “Your scent is not at all unpleasant.” 

Her fingers still gently circled around Paya’s wrist, Princess Zelda lifts her gaze from their hands to offer another smile—bright enough to rival sunlight reflecting off of snow, Paya thinks, and hardly has the breath to whisper, “Thank you.” 

“Princess!” 

They both turn to find Master Link approaching the cucco pen, with Cottla practically hanging off his neck and her older sister in tow. Koko runs ahead to climb up on the fence, bouncing on her toes. “We caught him!” Cottla crows proudly.  

Zelda laughs. “So I see!” She stands to dust off her knees and carries the egg basket over to the fence. “I hope you’ve worked up an appetite. Paya has kindly collected eggs for all of us to share.” 

“We can make omelets,” Koko says, before Link can speak. She peers interestedly into the basket. “Or pilaf or pudding or—”

“I don’t like egg pudding,” Cottla chimes in, climbing properly onto Master Link’s shoulders. “It’s all gooey and runny. I want crepes.” 

The princess smiles. “Perhaps we should start with the omelets, and then wait and see how hungry we are if we have any eggs to spare.”

“Link is always hungry,” Cottla says sagely.

“That is very true,” Zelda agrees, presenting the egg basket to Koko as Master Link grins bashfully and helps Cottla down from his shoulders. “Why don’t you two run ahead and get the fire started? We’ll be along in a minute.” 

“Okay!” 

Koko offers the handle of the basket to Cottla, and together they head off towards the cooking pot with their precious cargo suspended between them. Master Link and Princess Zelda watch them go, automatically moving closer together, perhaps unconsciously.

“It feels so strange telling them to light the fire on their own,” the princess murmurs, just loud enough for Paya to hear, still staring after the two sisters. “I know they’re perfectly capable, but I still worry.” She turns to Link and laughs a little, reaching out to brush the hair back from his forehead. “They weren’t too rough with you, I hope?”

Link just smiles at her, fondness plain and clear on his face, and Paya has the feeling that they would be embracing if it weren’t for the fence between them. She looks away as she gets to her feet, dusting off her knees and tidying her robes quietly so as not to draw attention to herself. There’s egg on one of her wristguards; she’ll have to wash it later.

“You’ll be joining us, won’t you, Paya?” the princess asks, and when Paya looks up again, she gives Paya another bright smile. “Are you hungry?” 

There’s a gnawing emptiness in the pit of Paya’s stomach, but it has nothing to do with food. She shakes her head. “No, Princess, thank you. I have some chores to do.”

The princess raises her eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

“Yes I—I’ve already eaten,” Paya says. “I’m fine, honestly. Please enjoy yourselves.”

Zelda purses her lips doubtfully. “Well, all right,” she replies, and takes Master Link’s offered hand to steady herself as she climbs up and over the fence. “We’ll be leaving just after breakfast to run some errands, but I hope you’ll be joining us for dinner,” she says, once back on the ground. “Link will be cooking and it’s sure to be copious and delightful.”

She still hasn’t let go of Master Link’s hand, and the way his eyes linger on the princess’s face sends a pang of longing through Paya’s body. She bows her head in an excuse to look away. “I’d love to, thank you.” 

“Wonderful! We’ll see you later, then.” 

Paya feels it safe to raise her head as they make their retreat, still walking hand-in-hand and bodies pressed very near. Their century of separation has only driven them closer, their bond strengthened by every shared hardship, and as such, just watching them feels like she’s intruding on something private. Witnessing such affection is humbling, and she’s never seen two people so obviously destined for one another, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. 

Paya smothers the jealousy curdling inside her and makes a beeline for the river to wash the egg yolk off her clothes.

 

* * *

   
They return to the village just before sundown, and for dinner, Master Link prepares what he calls a _paella_. It’s a rice and seafood dish; porgy and freshly-caught river snails and a variety of vegetables, cooked in butter and stock until the rice at the bottom forms a crispy, toasted crust. They first sampled it during their stay in Lurelin Village, Zelda tells them, after being invited to dinner by a local family—and, after begging the recipe off of their hosts, apparently proceeded to gorge themselves silly on it at least twice a week since. 

Whatever its origin, it is absolutely copious and definitely delightful, though Paya’s appetite begins to dwindle as the princess recounts their time spent by the ocean, describing the fish markets and sunsets and the occasion where they dozed off on the sand to the sound of the waves and were rudely awoken when the tide suddenly came in. Paya eats her meal in relative silence, surreptitiously eyeing Master Link as Princess Zelda gesticulates along with her story, and by the time Impa calls for bed, she finds herself glad to be excused. 

Paya begins clearing the table as they thank Master Link for the meal and bid each other goodnight. Grandmother tuts in amusement as he and the princess practically chase each other up the staircase.

“Perhaps we should invest in some earplugs,” she comments, and Paya stumbles so badly she almost drops the plates. 

It’s late evening and much of the village has retired for the night, so Paya finds herself blissfully alone when she slips outside. The soft ambiance of running water and windchimes is instantly soothing, the tension gradually leaving her body as she heads down to the pond. She kneels before the Goddess statue and lays her palms on the earth, leaning down until her painted forehead rests between them, so that the eye of the Sheikah is pressed to the ground. 

_Your connection with Hylia is strongest this way,_ Grandmother told her once, when she was first old enough for her face to be painted. _We must show our deference if we want our prayers to be heard._

Paya hopes She hears her now.

When Paya speaks to the Goddess, it has never been self-serving. She asks for fair weather and bountiful harvests for the village, for Grandmother’s good health, and that She watch over Master Link on his travels through the wild. Now, though, she prays selfishly: for contentment, for patience, for greater strength to endure her petty hardships, and, above all, to soften the ugliness of jealousy taken root in her soul.

Paya feels almost at ease by the time she rises, and returns to the house in a far better mood to find Impa already dozing. She quietly tidies downstairs and prepares for bed, her concern now focused on her sleeping grandmother and a means of keeping her warm; the storage cupboard is right beside her bedroom, and just a few short hours ago the prospect of venturing so close to Master Link and Princess Zelda’s sleeping quarters would have been unthinkably intrusive, but now, comforted as she is by her evening devotions, Paya dismisses her apprehension and makes her way up the stairs. 

She almost laughs to herself as she approaches the landing, reflecting on her recent behaviour and shaking her head with a smile. How silly she’s been, and how oblivious! Though she had long come to terms with her unrequited affections, of course her feelings for Master Link would resurface after almost a year of his absence, and of course his relationship with Princess Zelda would only heighten her unease. _Give it another day or two_ , she assures herself as she reaches the top of the staircase. Surely she’ll become accustomed to their closeness.

That’s when a soft sound splits the silence and Paya’s feet root themselves to the floor. 

She knows that sound. 

It’s more breath than voice, half gasp and half cry, stifled as if caught in the back of one’s throat or their bottom lip between their teeth. It’s unmistakable: the sound that coincides with the flinching of hips and grasping at the sheets for purchase, of one’s body betraying itself to the knowledge it must keep quiet—and it’s the same sound Paya made in the bath last night, with one hand over her mouth and the other between her legs. 

So when her gaze falls upon the sliver of light cast across the dark floor of the landing, Paya knows she should not be here. She doesn’t mean for her eyes to be drawn to the doorway less than a foot from where she stands. There’s an inch-wide gap where the sliding door sits ajar, and she truly doesn’t intend to look closer, but as she leans into the wall just to steady herself she catches a glimpse of the bed.

Princess Zelda’s knees are draped over Master Link’s hips and the sheets are caught at his waist. His face is in her hands and his hands are in her hair and they breathe together while Paya can’t breathe at all. It’s slow. Softer, gentler, than she could ever have expected, the quiet shift of their bodies beneath the blankets the only sound in the room. There’s no urgency. No objective. No performance. Just two people and sweat and breath and skin on skin on skin. 

It’s somehow both everything and nothing like she had imagined, but it isn’t slow for long. 

Paya watches the princess’s nails drag down Master Link’s back, hears him inhale a sharp hiss through his teeth. He pulls himself almost upright and plants his palms on the mattress, rocking his whole body forward and grinding down with his hips. The princess keens quietly with the movement, the noise soft in itself but powerful in the silence, and the linens fall dangerously low on Link’s body as he shifts for better leverage and does it again. And again. Harder. More deliberate. Over and over as the sheet slips further and further until it slithers all the way down to the floor. 

It would be impossible not to look even if Paya weren’t entirely transfixed to see it, her eyes automatically trailing down to the juncture of their bodies in search of the place that they join. Wicked curiosity compels her to study the princess’s legs and where Master Link fits between them—glimpsing, fleetingly, where hot and hard meets slick and soft **—** but then the princess makes that _sound_ again and Paya’s gaze falls on her instead.

She knows what’s about to happen from the moment she hears it, can see it from the wanting tilt of Zelda’s pelvis and the spreading flush on her chest. Paya almost thinks that her heart is racing right along with her, watching her spine arch desperately as her body winds tight—and then that coil breaks and she’s gasping, surging up in time with the pulse of it, as Master Link draws it all out with the steady rhythm of his hips and never takes his eyes from her face. 

Paya always thought that making love was something you did with your body. An expression of deep affection, yes, but still a physical thing, intimate in practice but carnal in nature. But in witnessing this quiet moment between two people, Paya sees it’s more than just a joining of bodies. It’s Zelda winding her arms around Master Link’s shoulders and Link pressing his face to her neck. It’s the two of them sighing, shifting, settling together, her drawing him deeper inside her as much as he gently presses in. It’s more than a connection, this moment. A joining of bodies and breath and hearts. 

She thinks this as Princess Zelda opens her eyes and levels her gaze straight at the door.

For an agonizing moment, Paya can’t control her body. The princess watches her, unblinking, expression unreadable, as an unaware Master Link begins peppering kisses down her neck. Paya knows she must step back but her limbs won’t obey, keeping her frozen in the shadows at the top of the stairs, as Princess Zelda slowly turns her face without breaking her gaze and presses her cheek to the top of Link’s head.

Control returns to her in a painful rush of self-awareness, and Paya’s back hits the wall so quickly that she might have been winded were there any breath left in her lungs. She sinks to the floor, dread and bile rising in the back of her throat, and as she closes her hand over her mouth to stifle a sob, Link makes a soft sound of concern.

Paya hears movement again, a quiet shift of skin-on-skin. “It’s nothing,” the princess murmurs. “Keep going, it’s your turn.”

She wrenches herself off the floor of the landing and silently flees down the stairs.


	3. carrots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all of the love to meriandra, who is probably the entire reason this chapter got finished

In the woods to the northeast of Kakariko Village, there is a pool that takes the form of an enormous golden flower.

It had not been there before Master Link first visited, previously appearing as a mere tangle of thorns. Undeniably less of an eyesore now—but somehow doubly as ominous—only Link dared to go near it, making regular trips to that hidden corner of the woods, and returning with his clothing and gear looking inexplicably more vibrant. Paya followed him once and hid amongst the trees, feeling tremendously guilty for spying, but witnessed little other than Link redressing placidly at the edge of the water, and the echo of a low, musical laugh bubbling up from beneath.

When questioned about why he was the first to have found it, Grandmother said that Master Link has the Sight: the innate ability to recognise the true nature of things, to perceive that which others are too nescient to see.

“You should know better to pry,” Impa told her, and Paya bowed her head, appropriately chided. “There is a reason why Link speaks so little. Not all spirits are inherently good, and being touched by the Gods is rarely a blessing. So do not envy him, Paya, and do not follow him again.”

She did, of course, just one last time, hiding amongst the trees again as he pulled on his boots, and observed as he meandered around the glade afterwards, collecting wild carrots and mushrooms and catching fireflies in jars. Before leaving, he kneeled down once more to admire a single, luminescent blue-and-white flower—just touching the petals gently, almost reverently, with his fingertips, but ultimately let it be.

This is where Paya finds herself after fleeing the house in disgrace.

It’s a while before she can see through her blind panic, only realising her whereabouts when she’s gasping for breath and half-collapsed against a tree near the edge of the fountain, thighs burning from the sprint and cheeks stinging from the night chill. Her vision is blurry—her eyes are wet; Paya angrily wipes at her face as she slides to the ground and draws her knees to her chest, trying to close her mind against the visions of skin and mouths and bodies and breath that echo inside her head. There’s a warmth between her legs that makes her feel sick to acknowledge, a pulse that throbs and quickens when she recalls the princess meeting her gaze through the gap in the door, and Paya curls in on herself and breathes a quiet sob against her knees, half arousal, half despair.

“Idiot Paya,” she whispers. “Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ girl.”

She stays on the ground with her face in her hands until she’s regained control of her breathing, then rises slowly on trembling legs and tentatively approaches the pool. She’s never dared to venture this close, only ever imagined climbing to the platform to make a wish and drop in some gold, but with the adrenaline wearing off and the cold settling in, the light and warmth is enticing. She doesn’t speak as she scales the petal-like steps, doubting that anything would hear her, but wonders what might happen if she breached the surface of the water—whether she might be granted some divine understanding, or if something would just reach up and drag her down.

It would be appropriate penance, Paya thinks bitterly, for disturbing a space to which she does not belong.

She ends up turning away from the eerie depths of the water and settling herself on the ground, leaning against the raised edge of the fountain so her back is warmed by the glow. Her gaze automatically falls on another source of radiance: a Silent Princess flower that blooms near her feet. In her mind’s eye, she sees Master Link cradling it in his fingertips, his expression adoring, unequivocally awed… and then it isn’t a flower he’s holding, but there is another beauty in his arms—and this princess is far from silent.

Paya buries her face in her hands again and wills the vision away.

She spends much of the night staring miserably at that distinctive blue glow, but the fountain’s warmth must have lulled her to sleep, because the next thing she knows she’s being stirred awake by the distant crowing of cuccos signalling the coming of dawn. The light of morning makes the world seem new again, colours and scents bright and sharp, and for a moment, Paya can’t help but bask in it, turning her face to the sun and allowing herself a small smile, until she remembers exactly why she spent the night out in the cold and wants to sink into the ground.

She doesn’t want to go back, doesn’t want to face it, but she thinks of Grandmother—hungry, waiting to break fast with her—and guiltily gets to her feet.

Paya merely nods in greeting as her neighbours chirp their hellos, anxiously keeping her eyes peeled for two heads of gold hair among the silver as she makes her way back to the house. She braces herself before pushing through the door, hoping against hope that Master Link and the princess are still sleeping, but thankfully finds the parlour empty besides Grandmother, already sitting up and alert on her pile of cushions. Paya bows her head in apology and hurries to get the water boiling.

It takes a little while to prepare the tea and steam the rice, but Impa waits patiently until they’re both seated at the breakfast table before she gives a pointed glance at Paya’s conspicuously neat bedroll and says, “You slept soundly, I see.”

When Paya says nothing, just stares guiltily into her teacup, her Grandmother’s tone softens. “Speak to me, child—are you not well?”

“I’m all right,” Paya says. She raises her teacup and inhales deeply, the scent calming her somewhat, and decides on a partial truth. “I admit my sleep has been… disturbed, recently. It’s a little strange having other people in the house when it’s been just you and I for so many years.”

Grandmother gives a warm smile, crinkling her already wrinkled face, and reaches out to pat her hand. “Worry not, Young Paya. You will be back in your own bed sooner than you think.”

The thought of returning to that bed—Gods, even stepping foot in that room—makes something hot and painful stick in Paya’s throat. Her eyes dart towards the stairs before she can help herself. “Yes, I—I suppose so.”

“Master Link and the princess have already emerged,” Impa says, having apparently noticed her furtive glance. “Link is accompanying Dorian and Rola on a hunt, and the princess and I will be spending much of the day looking over documents recovered from Hyrule Castle. Can you keep yourself entertained for today?”

“Of course,” Paya says, quite relieved that she won’t be required around the house. “I’ll ask Trissa if she needs assistance with food preparation for the festival.”

“Good girl,” Grandmother commends. “Not that Zelda and I wouldn’t appreciate your company, but I’m afraid you’d find the experience terribly dull.”

Having eaten little at supper last night, Paya finds she feels much more herself with a proper meal in her belly. She clears the table and helps Grandmother set out the collection of old books and parchment, then gathers the breakfast things and heads out onto the decking. It’s comforting in the routine of it, allowing her to daydream a little as is her nature, and it isn’t until she’s shaking out the tablecloth that she notices Master Link and Princess Zelda in the yard below.

They’re standing quite close with their heads bent together, the princess speaking very quietly with her eyes downcast while Master Link studies her face. He holds one of her hands as he listens intently, unmoving until the princess looks up to meet his eyes, and then he brings his free hand up to cradle the nape of her neck, pulling her forward until her forehead is pressed to his.

He’s that much shorter than she is that he almost has to stretch up on his toes to do it, but they stand like that for a few moments, eyes closed and fingers entwined, saying no words but simply breathing. They don’t move until the princess says something and they laugh and break apart, Master Link’s eyes alight with warmth as he holds the princess’s hand against his chest—and it occurs to Paya, suddenly, ironically, and even though she has no right: she has yet to see him kiss her.

Which is when they turn and look straight up at her, like they knew she was there all along.

Paya averts her gaze immediately, ducking her head so that they might not notice the heat flooding her face. She moves away from the railing and finishes airing out the tablecloth, then proceeds to have much difficulty folding it because her hands won’t stop shaking, her fumbles only worsening when Master Link departs and the princess ascends the stairs. She keeps her back turned much longer than her sense of courtesy would normally permit, smoothing out invisible wrinkles in the cloth until she no longer has an excuse not to speak, and then, at last, with bated breath, Paya turns to face her.

“Good morning, Princess,” Paya says.

Princess Zelda, standing near the railing overlooking the yard, dressed in her usual travelling clothes again, offers a smile much warmer than Paya deserves. “Good morning, Paya.”

The morning air is crisp—it always is, up here in the mountains—but today Paya feels the breeze much more acutely. She moves to stand beside the princess, clutching the tablecloth to her chest, feeling her heart pounding through the layers of linen.

“Beautiful day,” the princess says, after a rather long pause. “The last of winter is behind us, it seems.”

“Yes,” Paya agrees, probably too quickly. “Fair weather for a successful hunt, I hope.”

“I hope so, too. Link has promised Koko a whole wild boar, and I’d hate to see her disappointed.”

Master Link comes into sight again, flanked closely by Rola, who appears to be chatting his ear off as he attaches a fresh quiver of arrows to his belt. He seems mildly perturbed by her proximity—Paya isn’t sure what that’s about. “I’m sure she’ll be very pleased with whatever he brings her.”

The princess merely hums in response, and the silence that follows is decidedly tense. Paya has half a mind to make an excuse and walk away, or to just get it over with and grovel for forgiveness prostrate at the princess’s feet, until Zelda turns to her a little and says, “Do we need to talk about what you saw last night?”

Paya’s eyes lose their focus, the sight of the yard and the sounds of the village falling away until she’s _there_ again, standing paralysed and terrified outside her open bedroom door. She has nothing to say to justify her actions, nothing to excuse her from the terrible indiscretion she’s committed, but the princess asked her a question, and so Paya whispers: “No.”

Dorian has joined Rola and Master Link in the time it took her to respond. They’re in deep discussion, the three of them bent over a map spread out on the ground. Dorian makes a comment and Master Link laughs, the soft sound carrying all the way up to the decking.

“I’m sorry,” the princess says.

Paya had expected anger. Outrage, admonishment, even outright cruelty. She had not expected _sorry_ , and so she tentatively meets the princess’s eyes. “Why?”

The princess shrugs. “You love him.”

The panic must have shown on Paya’s face, because Zelda gives a quiet laugh. “It’s all right,” she says, leaning down to rest her elbows on the railing, looking out over the yard again. “Every woman, man, and horse in Hyrule has probably loved Link at some point. Honestly, I’d be surprised if you didn’t. That’s why...” she trails off for a moment, drumming her fingers on the wood. “I hoped that you wouldn’t judge me too harshly.”

“Why would I—” Her voice has grown hoarse from anxiety; Paya clears her throat. “Why would I judge you?”

The princess laughs again, but in a harsh exhale through her nose, so it sounds more like a sigh. She’s quiet for a moment, thoughtful, then says, “Impa likes to tease, but you and I both know that there’s some truth behind it.” At Paya’s confused frown, she gestures at herself with an air of boredom. “I am an unmarried princess welcoming a knight into my bed.”

“Oh,” Paya says, feeling her face warm again. “Oh, no, Princess, that isn’t—”

The princess looks directly at her, then, her expression patient and pained all at once, and Paya’s heart aches for her, suddenly, imagining how tiring it must be to live in constant scrutiny from the very world you saved. She lowers her eyes and chooses her words carefully. “I cannot speak for Grandmother,” she says. “But I know her heart, and I know that her words don’t come from a place of disapproval. She doesn’t judge you, and neither do I.”

The princess says nothing, so Paya continues. “As for last night, I—I have no excuse,” she says, all in a rush, her face burning. “And I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I am so, _so_ sorry. I truly don’t know what came over me—I wasn’t thinking, I was just—”

“Curious?” the princess offers gently.

If possible, Paya flushes even more deeply. “Yes.”

Princess Zelda cocks her head. “Have you never seen a naked man before, Paya?”

There’s no surprise or mocking in the way she says it, just a manner of mild interest—of filing the information away for later use. It’s so candid, so direct, that Paya can’t help but to avert her eyes demurely; she shakes her head and answers, “No.”

The princess nods and returns her attention to the yard. Rola appears to have departed, and Dorian’s daughters have come to bid farewell to Master Link and their father; Cottla is up on Link’s shoulders again, and Koko is on the ground gesticulating wildly, her little arms spread as wide as possible to demonstrate the desired size of her boar.

“I do appreciate your apology,” the princess says suddenly. “But if anyone should be apologising, it should be myself. I can’t imagine how terribly uncomfortable that must have been for you, and I hope that this doesn’t hinder our friendship.”

The princess’s smile is hopeful, honest, and, despite herself, Paya’s guilt and anxiety are somewhat assuaged. She shakes her head. “Of course not, Princess. I’m honoured that you still think of me as a friend.”

Princess Zelda’s smile widens, and Paya feels warm in an entirely different way. “Well, then. I hope that we can put this behind us.”

Down on the grass, Rola has returned with two horses in tow, and the girls have stepped back to watch them mount. Dorian has the saddle to himself, but Rola appears to have decided to share with Master Link, climbing on board behind him and wrapping her arms around his middle. He meets Zelda’s eyes when she does it, one eyebrow quirked in amusement as if they’ve just shared a joke, and raises his arm to wave goodbye. The princess waves back at him, and Paya, too, timidly raises a hand in farewell.

“I thought you should know, though,” the princess says, as Master Link gives a final salute to Koko and Cottla and nudges his horse into a trot. “That Link and I have talked about it, and we don’t mind.”

Paya pauses, hand still in the air. “You don’t mind?”

Princess Zelda steps away from where she has been leaning against the railing. She brushes off her elbows, straightens out her clothing and says, “If you would like to watch.”

She moves back into the house without another word, leaving Paya alone on the decking—stunned silent, for the second time in just a few hours, with her feet rooted firmly to the floor.

* * *

 

The rest of Paya’s day seems to stretch out forever, and yet somehow simultaneously doesn’t feel very long at all.

She spends the remaining daylight hours with Trissa, tasked with helping the shopkeep cut vegetables for an enormous pot of stew. It’s easy to lose herself in the mindlessness of it as she peels and dices the potatoes, barely engaging in conversation beyond the occasional hum or nod, but luckily Trissa needs little encouragement; she laments not being allowed to prepare the pumpkins and regales her with the latest developments of her husband and Olkin’s feud, leaving Paya to agonize over her exchange with the princess in peace.

As she leaves, Paya finds herself being handed two near-overflowing bags of carrots. She tries to refuse them, but Trissa insists. “You’re the heart of this village, Paya—I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

She feels somehow burdened as she returns to the house—her thoughts occupied, for the first time in days, by something other than the princess and her silent knight. Still, she forces a smile on her face and shows Grandmother the gift, unsure if it’s the weight of the carrots, or that of Trissa’s words, that feel impossibly heavy.

And so, late that night, after Master Link has returned from his hunting trip and everyone has retired to bed, Paya ventures back to the glade.

This time, there’s no hesitation as she approaches the fountain, no sense of guilt as she feels the warmth of the petal-steps beneath her feet. When she reaches the platform, she doesn’t bother to speak, just silently sheds her clothing and slips cleanly into the pool.

She floats on the surface, carefree and weightless, warmed by the water but her wet skin prickling where exposed to the cold night air. After a while, she realises it isn’t just the heat of the water caressing her body—two pairs of hands have risen up from the depths beneath her, warm and gentle as they grasp and stroke and roam over her flesh. When they begin to drag her down, Paya doesn’t care to fight them, just watches the stars fade to darkness as she’s pulled into the black, and it isn’t until her eyes close and water fills her mouth that she remembers: she never learned to swim.

Paya opens her eyes.

It takes a moment to reorient herself. She’s safe in the house, warm in her bedroll, Grandmother snoring softly on her cushions beside her as Paya’s heart races from the thrill of the dream. She pushes a hand through her hair, almost expecting to feel it soaking, but finds no wetness there—not even that of her sweat. It’s only when her thighs rub together as she turns onto her back that she finds she is not entirely dry.

Gazing up at the ceiling, Paya imagines movement; the shifting of linens and wandering of hands, punctuated by the telltale creak of a bed. She closes her eyes and guiltlessly allows herself to chase the image, for the first time emboldened and unashamed of the carnality of her desires, and then, quietly, so as not to disturb Grandmother, Paya slips out from beneath her blankets and makes her way to the stairs.

She can see the light from the doorway even before she reaches the landing, and this time the opening is almost six inches wide.

When Master Link catches Paya’s eye over the princess’s shoulder, he does not cease his movements. He does not alert Zelda to their audience as he pulls her hips down against his lap. While his smile is bashful as the fervor builds between them, he doesn’t break her gaze—and as he takes his trembling princess more closely into his arms, Paya feels no need to envision herself in her place.

She rests against the doorframe, leaning shyly into the wood, and settles in to watch.


End file.
